


Hologram

by RedDwarfIsALesbian



Category: Red Dwarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDwarfIsALesbian/pseuds/RedDwarfIsALesbian
Summary: Rimmer always tended to overthink things before he could go to sleep.





	Hologram

**Author's Note:**

> I'm by no means a writer but I thought I'd test the water, so go easy on me please ;_;

Laying on his bunk, Rimmer was mulling over what his life had become over the last few years.

Or rather his death.  
Because he was dead.  
And a hologram.  
Which was quite a standout problem in his life, given that he'd much rather be alive and breathing and feeling..  
There were a lot of things about being corporeal that Rimmer missed. If he sat down to write a list it would end up around the length of the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. Three hundred million words and then some, all of the things he was missing out on that the rest of the crew took entirely for granted.  
_Smegheads._  
they didn't know how good they had it, and of _course_ they never wanted to listen to him pointing out how little they valued the privileges not being dead had!  
There were the obvious things like food, being able to lean on tables without falling through them. Actually turning the pages of the book you were trying to read instead of having to get the Skutters to turn them which more often than not resulted in pages ripped out and not much of a book to be read anymore and a whole pile of crumpled paper on the bunkroom floor.  
Even Cat could turn a smegging page in a smegging book! And Rimmer was doubtful as to whether he could read English in the first place or if he was bound to what Cat books they had.  
Those weren't much cop for Rimmer, either.  
Firstly he considered them to be drivel that wasn't worth learning the language for in the first place. Secondly, he couldn't have read (smelled?) them even if he wanted to. His sense of smell wasn't strong enough anymore.

Which was another delightful side effect of his Holographic status was diminished senses. Sight was okay, so was hearing. But the rest was fuzzy at best, entirely gone at worst.  
Touch was the obvious one, there wasn't anything he could truly come into contact with, even the floors he walked on. He wasn't really on them but hovering just above.  
The only thing he could "touch" was himself. But even that felt insubstantial.

It reminded him loosely of those incredibly old boxy televisions they had in the.. what was it? 20th century?  
There had been one in a museum on Io which he'd had to attend for a school trip. The teachers hadn't noticed when he'd broken away from the rest of the class and gone off to a quieter area, not one for the crowds and noise. There'd been one of those old tellys there, and when Rimmer had run his hand along the screen, he could feel the "static" as the informational sign had told him.  
That's what it felt like to touch his softlight body, insubstantial, warmthless, crackly...

There were a whole plethora of adjectives he could've used to describe what being a hologram felt like. None of them were particularly positive.

He couldn't even use his non corporeal status to his advantage, his lightbee prevented him from walking through walls, it just clanked into it while his projection was halfway in one room, halfway in the other.  
He had to use the actual doors like everybody else on the smegging ship.

There, that was decided. There were no perks whatsoever to being a hologram.

Frankly, it was all rather depressing.  
But, that was life. Or death in his case.

Look at him, Arnold J Rimmer 31 years old, 3 years dead and what did he have to show for it?  
Nothing, zero, nada, zilch, nenio.

Fan smegging tastic.

He shook his head, still staring dolefully up at the bunk above him where Lister was asleep. Mercifully, he wasn't snoring; although Rimmer almost missed the white noise, it stopped him from thinking, and he'd prefer the train of thought he was on now to pull up to the station of mental stability so Rimmer could pointedly get _off_.  
But he got no such break and dove back into his one man pity party for all it was worth.

He hadn't even been able to pass his astronavigation exam! Three million years in deep space and he still couldn't pass one exam.  
He'd nursed a vague hope that just maybe without the pressure of the exam room and all the other people in it, he just might have been able to pass, given enough prep time. But no, once again he'd fallen short.. or rather three times again.  
Once every year he'd tried, and predictably, he'd failed.

He just wasn't cut out for it, just like his parents had pointed out.  
He just wasn't cut out for it.

But, he'd keep trying, keep pressing on. Without any other goal in life, what was there to keep going for?  
Well, maybe the duty that he'd been turned on for, keeping the last human being SANE  
But without any other goals, he'd end up _like_ Lister, doing absolutely nothing and being of no use to anybody!

A shudder ran through his body at that thought.  
Him? Being like _Lister?_  
What a truly horrible idea.  
Although, a small voice at the back of his mind did point out that at least Lister content with his life. Or if not content then at peace with himself.  
Rimmer squashed that little voice as soon as it had arisen, the day he became jealous of Lister was the day Rimmer would hit a new low, lower than low, lower than he thought possible before.

And that day certainly was not going to be today if he could help it.

He didn't trust himself to think about the matter any further and turned over, staring bleakly at the wall and wondering if changing position was really going to do anything in aid of changing his train of thought.

And even less helpfully Lister took the opportunity to remind Rimmer that he was there by starting up snoring. It was a loud, grating sound, like a miniature marching band comprised of entirely tone-deaf musicians, explicitly designed to keep Rimmer from going to sleep. Not that he'd been trying to in the first place, but this certainly wasn't going to help. He wished he could drown the noise out by covering his ears with a pillow; unfortunately, he couldn't touch it in the first place so he'd failed at the first hurdle and had to content himself with clamping his head between his arms and hoping that would at least muffle things.

Smegging lister with his smegging _contentment_ with his life and smegging snoring and smegging _everything._

As far as Rimmer was concerned all of it was to be held in contempt.

Lister always managed to breeze through situations as if they were nothing, taking it all in his stride unless it was a life-threatening situation, of course. "taking things in stride" had never exactly been Rimmers strong point, as evidenced by his.. many attempts and subsequent failures at the astronavigation exam. Passing out and having to be taken to the medibay couldn't exactly be described as "taking it in his stride", could it?

The annoying little voice was back, and it whispered that Lister could probably pass the exam if he put his mind to it, maybe even with flying colours just to add insult to injury. Rimmer couldn't stamp the thought back down this time, and the voice grew slightly louder.

Lister seemed to be quite good at.. well, anything he properly attempted. Jack of all trades, master of none, or some smeg. He'd even gotten into art college on flunking his exams, and it didn't seem fair. That he'd waltzed into something, Rimmer could scarcely /dream/ of without any effort whatsoever! And leave 97 minutes later! _97 minutes_!

It would've felt less like a kick to the stomach if it'd at least been 97 days. Would that have been so hard? 97 smegging days to test the water instead of 97 minutes that would forever be unattainable for Rimmer? It was embarrassing, but art had been the one thing that made Rimmer happy. No matter how much he'd needed to hide it from his father. Who'd taken away any materials he'd caught him with. It "wasn't the done thing".

That's why he spent so long on his revision timetables; it was as close as he could get to art without stepping over the mark. He could still call that being productive and sticking to his space corps work. But Lister hadn't needed an excuse. He was only in the college to take it easy, anyway. it wasn't something he'd ever actually _wanted_ to do. It seemed apt to Rimmer that he was outshined even by Lister. Smeg, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get anything right, could he? It was a wonder the crew hadn't turned off his lightbee years ago.

He shifted so his hands were over his ears, pressing down hard enough so it hurt slightly. It wasn't to drown out the noise anymore, but just for the sake of the pressure, perhaps he was hoping with some futility that it might shut his mind up.

That was definitely enough thinking for one evening.


End file.
